


Post-Game Conversations

by hawkywithshawzy



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Cuddling, Fluff, M/M, Recent game, hehe, kisses!!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-18
Updated: 2016-10-18
Packaged: 2018-08-23 02:48:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8310973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hawkywithshawzy/pseuds/hawkywithshawzy
Summary: The post game conversation gets a little fluffy.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Just a note - I loveeeee PK Subban so don't think this is about trash talking him! Just wanted to use the hits as a prompt. PK is an AWESOME person and player, and I love who he is, so yeah! Enjoy!:)

Kaner is small. Kaner doesn’t fight. And Kaner doesn’t stand up for himself when he is pushed around on the ice. It usually isn’t a problem; he shakes it off and gets up and skates to the bench like nothing even happened. Not like a 200 pound man just shoved him to the ground. But when PK Subban, new to the Central Division and living up to the nickname “Smashville”, knocked Patrick flat on his ass during their first regular season matchup, Jonny was having _none of it._ He wasn’t allowed to just waltz in and push people around. This was his division, his team, his territory. 

Both PK and Patrick were sent to the box, Patrick for embellishment, or in other words, the most ridiculous call ever used in the National Hockey League. If the refs took a second to look over what happened, PK would be in the box for a lot longer. And while Patrick expressed his disagreement, he went, sitting in the box for doing absolutely nothing. Jonny was too rilled up to not drop his gloves with James Neal, knowing but not caring about what Laz was tweeting on twitter: something about being a goon. It was dumb and he just want to punch someone in the jaw and maybe he would feel better about this whole thing.

He texted Patrick after the game, just a quick, _you alright?_ to which he responded, _yeah. nothing I can’t handle. nice fight against nealer tho, don’t even have one goal yet and you’re already dropping the gloves_. Jonny shut his phone off then, turning it upside down on his bedside table and getting into bed. He was still steaming, shaking his head and crossing his arms against his chest. Nobody can mess with Kaner like that. Not on open ice.

Two days later, they played the Preds again, this time in front of their hometown crowd. It felt good to be back in their red sweaters, listening to the fans and letting his heart thump with the beat of their hands on the glass. The Preds were a good team, admittedly, but there was nothing he loved more than giving them a loss to simmer in until they meet again in the season. That was the plan tonight - play simple, do their thing, and give them a good run for their money. Patrick seemed to forget all about the PK incident - he was smiling with Panarin in warm ups and buzzing with an energy that seemed to seep into everybody’s veins, giving them an electric feeling that fed them confidence as they skated back to the bench after warm ups were over. Tonight was their night, he could feel the building shake with it.

He didn’t even plan on getting aggressive, he just wanted to play a good game and get a win at home for the first time this season. It wasn’t until he saw PK against the boards that a surge of anger washed over him - he wanted to crush him, send him flying, just so he knew what he gets if he messes with his team, his Patrick. He watched as he flung forwards, towards the ice, where it meet the edge of the boards. Jonny skated towards center ice, ignoring the “What the fuck was that?!” coming from behind him. He noticed it took PK a few seconds to get up, brush himself off. He was glad. He wanted him to feel how Patrick felt the other night - and Jonny wasn’t sure what came over him when it happened, but he did, and he’s over it.

He answered a few questions in the post-game interviews, Laz and Lear sticking their iPhones in his face in order to give the fans the sarcastic recaps they wanted. He liked looking through the mentions on their tweets - some fans react in the funniest ways, pulling strings out of thin air to make something seem totally different than what it really was. He even favorited a few, just to give them a little heart attack. He packed up his bag, catching Patrick’s eye next to him, avoiding the whole _yeah I defended your honor, no it’s not a huge deal_ conversation he could see resting at the surface of Patrick’s face. He was an answers man: he wanted to know why things happened, and how they happened, and everything else under the sun, like a five year old. Sometimes it was cute, when Patrick would look at him with those eyes that were like, _you know everything, and I want you to teach me_. Jonny always told himself that if he wasn’t playing professional hockey he would be a teacher of some sort, helping children learn. There’s nothing like looking into the eyes of a child and knowing that they are taking everything you say and probably placing you somewhere near God on the scale of important figures in their life. Patrick was no different, he thinks.

He hadn’t even began making his post-game protein smoothie when there was a jangling of keys outside his condo door. He heard Patrick letting himself in, using the key Jonny gave him just a few months ago, when things started getting serious between them. 

“Jon? You here?” he asked, kicking his shoes against the wall. There are skid marks from all the other times he’s done it, like a habit, but Jonny hasn’t gotten around to sitting there and scrubbing them away. Not like his mother was there to yell at him to.

“Yeah, I’m in the kitchen,” he called back, mixing the mixture of chocolate protein, a banana, some vegan ice cream, and ice in the blender before turning it on. Patrick walked in, hair still wet from his shower, Jonny’s old UND sweatshirt hanging on his tiny frame. He looked tired, each blink of his eyes slower as he looked at Jonny from across the room. He decided to close the space, wrapping his arms around the familiar fabric and pulling him in close. 

“Hey,” he whispered, running a hand through his hair and he breathed against his chest, arms tightening against his back. They stayed like that for a while, while Jonny’s smoothie mixed away across the room. “Hey,” Patrick whispered back, rubbing his nose against the soft texture of Jonny’s t-shirt. “Why do you always smell like strawberries?” Patrick asked, taking a deep breath against him. 

“I just ate some,” Jonny said. “I always smell like them?” he asked, face scrunched up.

“Yeah, but it’s nice. I like it,” Patrick said, still not moving from where he was hugging Jonny. The blender had stopped, and Jonny knew if he didn’t put it in a glass it would get all sticky in the machine. He didn’t move, though, just letting this moment with Patrick happen, all soft and slow.

“You gonna tell me what’s going on?” Jonny asked after a few moments of silence, the soft murmur of the TV barley heard from the living room. Patrick had a few different kinds of quiet - a dangerous quiet, where Jonny knew he was about to blow up big about something, or a thoughtful quiet - where he was going over the jumble of words in his head, choosing when and how to say them. Jonny figured this was a thoughtful quiet, because he felt Patrick smile, his grin tickling his chest.

“You hit Subban tonight,” Patrick said, snuggling deeper against Jonny. “He didn’t even have the puck, and you hit Subban.” Jonny tightened slightly; he knew Patrick had mixed feelings about people standing up for him, especially on the ice. He was strong, they knew, but didn’t show it much. 

“Yeah, I did,” Jonny said, trying to let Patrick control the conversation instead of the opposite way around. He didn’t want to treat Patrick like a child, trying to protect him from the big bad bullies from down the street, but that’s exactly what he was doing. It was confusing. 

“Noted goon,” he said, lifting his head up to meet Jonny’s eyes. “Jonathan Toews, delivering a nasty hit to Subban in order to avenge his boy Patrick Timothy Kane the II,” he continued, a smirk coming to his face. “You didn’t have to do that,” he said, brushing his nose against Jonny’s jaw. Jonny leaned back on the counter, watching Patrick, chewing on his bottom lip. 

“Yeah, so,” he mumbled, burying his mouth in Patrick’s curls, kissing them. He didn’t want to admit it: he would probably run into oncoming Michigan Avenue traffic for Patrick if he asked. 

“So,” Patrick said, “it means you care about me. More than you did before, which was a lot even for you, _Captain Serious_ ,” he said, with emphasis. He locked eyes with Jonny again. Despite the Captain Serious comment, he grabbed his jaw, pulling Patrick’s mouth closer until it was on his. He could feel Patrick relax under him, melting into it, grabbing onto Jonny’s free hand. He almost had him, almost had him forgetting about the subject at hand, but Patrick was smarter than Jonny gave him credit for. He pulled away smiling, not looking away from Jonny for a moment.

“Don’t think that made me forget what we’re talking about,” Patrick said, squeezing his hand. His heart fluttered - how could someone make him feel so much at once? He loved this goof, this blonde haired, strawberry loving, kick ass hockey playing goof. 

“Can I try one more time?” Jonny asked, smirking. Patrick got with the program, a smile playing his lips, his dimple popping out and suddenly he became the center of Jonny’s world - his own plan was working on himself, damnit.

“But of course, Captain Overachiever,” Patrick chirped, leaning in as Jonny grabbed him tighter, holding him close in the middle of his kitchen. 

Sometime later, in Jonny’s bed, Patrick was draped over him, his head nuzzled in his shoulder, the sounds of their hollow breaths echoing in the big room. The sound of city traffic pounded below them, a sign of life in what seemed like their little bubble. Jonny jumped a little when he heard Patrick below him mumble something inaudible against his collarbone, lips catching the warm skin there.

“What?” Jonny asked, looking down at where Patrick’s eyes were fluttering, plagued with sleep. “Thank you,” he repeated, hugging Jonny’s side tighter. Jonny felt a flush creep up the side of his neck, turning his cheeks a light shade of pink. It was a moment he wanted to remember for a while, just laying there, falling asleep to each other’s breathing.

“I love you,” Patrick whispered, stuffing his face away from where Jonny could catch his eye. “I mean, I didn’t, I don’t know, I just-“ Patrick rambled, his voice vibrating against his shoulder. Him, Patrick Kane, was nervous. Which never happens, like, ever.

“Look at me,” Jonny said, reaching down to grab Patrick’s face, fierce and loving at the same time. “Say it again,” he demanded, searching his eyes, relieved to see a fond expression form after a few seconds.

“I love you, Jonny, okay? Always, always,” he said, tears ready to pounce from behind his eyes. Jonny kissed him, strong and sure, before he said, “I love you, too, Patrick.”


End file.
